


I’m sorry I’m a handful

by apostapals (apostapal)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Deaths, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 15:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8451799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostapal/pseuds/apostapals
Summary: A series of unfortunate 'could have been's.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **1… you killed me…**

Just another abomination, cut down before it could do the same to them. Alistair doesn’t realize he’s lingering until Wynne touches his shoulder.

“Oh, Surana.” she says grimly, reaching down and patting at the tattered robes on the ground. “Such a shame. She had such potential.”

Alistair swallows hard and steps over the corpse. He tries to forget the feeling, fleeting as it was, but it will not go.

**2… we were a tragic impossibility…**

“I hear your Harrowing was one of the best they’ve seen.”

Surana pauses, page between her fingers, and squints at the table a moment before turning to look at him. She’s tense; bound in knots at the uncomfortable closeness of him.

Alistair tries not to notice. But he does. And he knows why.

“Yes.” she says, smile tight. “I suppose it went well.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t there. I… don’t much like overseeing Harrowings.” he says, straightening his back–moving more out of her space. She seems to appreciate it.

“Yes, well…” she drawls, eyes lowering back to her book. “I’d never want to be around a templar that did.”

Alistair knows why.

**3… i only keep your sheets warm…**

”If you are to be king, there are some important things to remember. Your image is, above all else, one of the most vital things about you. The company you keep closest can shape the peoples’ opinions of you.”

Alistair understands what Eamon is saying but he hardly wants to. It makes him want to scream and yell, say he’s changed his mind and would rather run off into the Deep Roads than be king.

But he can’t. His throat feels tight so he simply nods and gets to his feet. He feels Eamon’s eyes on his back the whole way to the door.

Surana’s expecting him in her room. She’d probably already known this was coming, intuitive as she is.

”I’m sorry.” is all he can say, eyes on the floor.

He hears her laugh, softly, and looks up only to find her wiping uselessly at her eyes. He’d comfort her were he not the cause of this.

”I understand.” she says, sniffling. “It was nice while it lasted, wasn’t it?”

Better than he deserved, he thinks.

**4… i don’t recognize you anymore…**

His head feels heavy. He’s sweating and shivering in his thin nightshirt, hands grasping for anything to support him.

”Alistair.”

A voice he knows but… cannot place. He can’t see her, eyes milky and useless now. He coughs and it sounds wet and raw. He can barely make her out over the song in his head.

”Alistair, lay back down.” she says, more command than request.

He obeys, burdened as it is, and feels a warm hand on his forehead. It, too, is familiar. But he doesn’t know how or why.

”Drink this.” she requests, not commands, and the rim of a glass comes to his lips.

He obliges, drinks like he’s been in the desert for years, and when it’s empty he feels… heavier. He lays back and sighs loudly.

”I’m sorry, love.” she whispers.

Alistair feels her lips touch his forehead. Everything else is going fuzzy, strange. The singing is gone now. He can almost place who she is–a face and a name.

If he could just… remember.

**5… we never met…**

King Alistair sends the rebel mages out of Redcliffe because it is necessary. He cannot have the influence of Tevinter–not here, not anywhere.

So Surana leaves, flanked by a few closest to her, before the Inquisition can realize they were even there. They travel north, find a boat, and are gone. Time moves on, no one notices the loss.

The lioness mage lives on, saving mages and elves alike, and the most King Alistair even hears of her is brief mentions in wanted flyers.

He does not know her, or remember her, but something about her gives him pause.

**6… the two of us could ~~have~~ work ~~ed~~ out…**

“I’m Warden Alistair,” he says, sticking his hand out towards her a little too energetically. “you must be our new recruit, right?”

“Right.” she replies, taking his hand gingerly. “Aberdeen Surana.”

He smiles, big and warm, and shakes her hand once before letting it go. Surana flexes her fingers slightly, as if he’s grabbed her too hard, and he looks guilty before promptly moving to fill the silence.

“You’re a mage?” he asks.

She nods, lips pursed.

“Well, before you get too worried, I’m not a templar–no matter what the other Circle mages have to say about it. You’re safe with me. Well, relatively safe; I am sometimes a bit more of a liability than not clanking around in all this armor.”

There it is; he’s gotten an actual smile out of her. It’s lovely…

“Good to know.” she chuckles. “I think it’ll be nice working with you, Alistair.”

He feels flushed and fluttery. He smiles and nods, perhaps with a little too much enthusiasm, and bounces on his heels.

“Yeah, you too.”


End file.
